Wanted: Dead or Alive
by whydon'twejustplayitonkazoos
Summary: Based on the movie 'Wanted'. Blaine Anderson's life was boring and insignificant, until one day when Kurt Hummel, aka. Procelain, comes crashing into his life and everything changes. But change isn't always a good thing... rated M for eventual Klaine
1. Prologue

A/N: The prologue is quite short, but don't be alarmed, the chapters will be much longer and hopefully hold a lot more action and plot x (Apologies for any mistakes, this was written quite quickly, and also in school, and I haven't had a chance to proof-read, so yeah, sorry)

* * *

This is my life. It has no rhyme or reason anymore, in fact I can't remember a time that it ever actually had a reason. I don't think it ever did. I know, I have a depressing outlook on life. But how could I seriously think anything else? My life sucks.

I've been hopped up on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs for as long as I can remember. I can't sit still, I just feel like there should be _more _out there. More of what? Your guess is as good as mine. There just _has _to be something else out there. Something more than quarterly bills and finance proposals.

I've googled myself, several times. Nothing. No results whatsoever. It's hard to imagine being so insignificant that no one else in the world even shares your names. Complete ambiguity is not the wonderful seclusion many poets and artists deem it to be. To have recognition as a _somebody, _to at least make the smallest of dents in the world with something _I've _done… that's all I want. To make a difference, to be someone, not just another number in corporate America, not just another sheep following the crowds.

This is almost constantly my train of thought. And this is what I'm thinking as I stand at the counter of the pharmacist's, paying for my best friend's energy drink and condoms. Wes had conveniently "forgotten" his wallet yet again. As Wes answered his phone, I handed over my money to the cashier. He was old and grey, and looked about as fed up with life as I felt.

Suddenly, there is a voice beside me. "I knew your father." The voice was soft and rang out beautifully. As I turned, I saw that the man's face more than matched his exquisite voice. He was truly beautiful. And that's saying something. Never before have I classed a man as "beautiful", hot maybe, but never beautiful. I may be gay, but "beautiful" is a word I have only ever used when describing a very good-looking woman, or when my sister got married. But this man, he was the very definition of the word itself.

"How did you know my father?"

"I used to work with him. He taught me everything I know." He paused for a moment, "He was the greatest assassin who ever lived-"

"My father was an accounta-"

"-and the man who killed him is standing right over there" He gestured over my right shoulder, and I turned to see a sharply dressed, well-groomed man in a grey trenchcoat ducking behind the shampoo display.

"Wha-" before I could get my question out, Beautiful – as I'd taken to calling him in my head – dragged me behind a display and pulled out a large hand gun, shooting at the other man. I covered my ears as the gunmen exchanged fire, trying in vain to block out the deafening noise.

Then, I felt a sudden, sharp impact below my shoulder. I felt a warmth spreading down my chest. I looked down and saw red, then everything went black.

* * *

Review, comment, rate please! Reviews make me write more and update quicker =)

- A x


	2. Chapter 1

A train rattled along the tracks beside my apartment building. Normally the noise didn't bother me, but today it was unusually loud. When I listened closer I could hear the sounds of the city rising up to meet my ears; dogs barking, car horns blaring, police sirens wailing. And all of it was obnoxiously loud.

With a groan I rolled over onto my back and-

"Fucking hell!"

Oh shit, that was a mistake. Pain erupted through my right shoulder, and my head fell back against the pillows, breath hissing through my teeth in agony. _What the hell? _I looked down to see that the upper right side of my chest was covered in thick gauze and bandages, a few specks of red had appeared in the middle of the white expanse. _Blood...How-?_

And it all came flooding back. The strange man in the shop last night. The beautiful man who- wait... did he have a gun? _Holy shit. _He was shooting at the other man and then-

No way.

That didn't-

I did not get shot... did I?

I looked back down at the bandages. The red dots had expanded and melded into one another, forming a small scarlet circle.

_Fuck._

_Me._

Wow, I don't think I've ever sworn so much after just waking up. This is new. Usually I'm a lot more eloquent than this. Must be something to do with getting shot. Yeah that must be it.

Now that I've discovered the source of the pain, I try once more to sit up. I'm somewhat successful this time, managing to prop myself up in bed with pillows, careful not to move my right arm too much. As I sit up, I notice a breeze whistling through the apartment, rustling papers and brushing against my skin. Only then do I realize that the door to the fire escape has been left open.

That's... unusual. No, actually. It's wrong, very wrong. You don't leave doors or windows open in New York City. Not unless you wanted robbed or murdered. I never left that door open. The fact that I preferred to use the fire escape to leave the building rather than using my own front door, meant that I always locked it behind myself. I'd been doing it ever since I moved in and discovered some mooch had installed a standard lock on it instead of an emergency bar-lock.

And I _never _forgot to lock it, never mind close it. So what –

Wait. How did I even get home last night? Last thing I remember was heading home , going into the shop with Wes, meeting Beautiful, getting sh- _gulp- _getting shot, and then... nothing. What happened? How did I get here?

Now I feel more confused than ever. I reached a hand up to drag through my hair, only to discover that it was still caked in gel. Oh, great. That's just perfect. Day old gel is a pain to get out. _May as well get up now that I'm awake _I think as I through back the duvet, still careful not to jostle my right-side too much. The pain seems to tolerable, so long as I don't make any sudden movements.

I shuffle my way into the small kitchen, trying to remember if I have any food in the house, and suddenly I feel wave of dizziness travel through my body. I grab onto the table edge in an attempt to steady myself. _Oh right, blood loss. Of course you're going to be dizzy, idiot._

When I no longer feel like I'm going to collapse in a heap on the floor, I pull myself up straight, and lift my head slowly. Okay, that's better. That's when I notice it. Right in the middle of the table.

A note.

A plain piece of folded white paper with a single word written in neat script on the front : Blaine

Intrigued, I reach out and pull it out from under coffee mug that had been set on top of it. Inside was more of the same handwriting:

I've left some extra bandages and tape in your bathroom, you'll need to change the dressing at least twice daily.

There is a tube of special ointment sitting on your bathroom sink, call it 'Grandma's magic recipe'. Apply it generously to the wound as you change the dressing, and the wound should heal in a few days.

Take care gorgeous,

Xx

Well, that didn't really solve the mystery of last night. It didn't solve anything really. Except... this meant someone had brought me home, dressed my wound, and put me to bed, all while I was unconscious. Why go through all that trouble? Why not just take me to a hospital? Shrugging it off, I turned back to the cupboards in search of food. As I did so, the still-open fire escape caught my eye.

_Hold the fucking phone._

Whoever wrote that note, whoever brought me home had dragged my unconscious dead-weight body up three flights on a freaking fire escape...

I push the heel of my left hand into my eyes. Ugh, it is too early in the morning to think about all this. So I force myself to turn back around, search out some cereal, a bowl, some orange juice, and convince myself that I will be better able to process this once I've properly woken up.

After breakfast I decide to attempt a shower (I do still need to get that gel out after all, ugh what a mess). All of the necessary bandages and such had been left on the bathroom counter, just as the note had said.

Half an hour later, I came out of the bathroom refreshed, gel-free and with a clean dressing. Whatever 'Grandma's magic recipe' was, it burned like hell, but after a while the pain I felt before had definitely dulled, and I felt slightly more like me for the first time that morning.

I glanced up at the clock. I had half an hour to get work. Oh, yes, you heard correctly. Even gunshot I am _still _going to work. Not because I love my job or anything positive like that. _Fuck no. _I hate my job. I hate the people I work with. I hate my boss. But if I don't go to work, Schue will fire my ass, and how many other banks do you know that would be willing to take on a down-and-out ex-foster-home kid with a violent background who never even graduated high-school and, quite frankly, needed an attitude adjustment?

Answer: none.

The only reason I had a job as an executive assistant at McKinley was because I made for good eye candy outside Schue's office. Of course, he didn't say that, at the time it was all '_we at McKinley are all about development and helping the unfortunate'. _So he'd given me a job as his assistant, with a decent wage and all I had to do was bring him coffee, make his appointments, do some filing and photocopying, and answer phones. Hardly rocket science.

But I'd caught him the act a few times. And I'm not just talking about staring at my ass, which he does on a regular basis. No, I'm talking about the fact that he is stealing from innocent people. He's been steadily pinching from people's savings for years, and god forbid any takes his investment advice. That's his newest scheme, I think. He advises people to invest in certain (and I'm pretty sure fake) companies, which gives them a great return value, so they sell their shares for a profit. He then encourages them to invest again, with a greater amount, and this happens several more times before suddenly the market collapses and the investors lose all of their money, and amounts matching their losses soon appear in Schue's own account.

Maybe that's another reason he hired me, he thought I'd be too dumb to figure it out. But I can't say anything. If I do I'll lose my job, and like I said it's the only one I'm ever likely to get.

Twenty minutes later I was walking into McKinley, Wes nattering away at my side. I didn't really care what he was saying, I was just too focused on not bumping into anyone with my bad shoulder.

I made my way over to my desk, which was just to the side of the teller's counters. Schue was already in his office. I saw him leering through the glass door as I removed my suit jacket. Rolling my eyes, I moved back to the staff kitchen to get my morning coffee.

When I came back out, I heard raised voices and fearful gasps. One woman screamed. As the front of the bank came into view, I saw three men with ski masks on their faces, pointing guns at the tellers as they ordered them to fill bags with money.

_Could these guys be any more of a cliché?_

I ducked back under my desk, as one of the men fired a warning shot in the air when one of the customer's attempted to make a break for the door.

"Nobody moves 'til we get our money! Understood?"

Without waiting for an answer he fired another shot into the air. Another woman screamed, and I saw a woman close to the gunmen hunched over a pram. I let my eyes pan across the room, and saw that there were about a dozen customers in total dotted all over the main floor, and around ten or so staff members.

The only phones in the building were internal, so there was no chance of contacting the police. The tellers were too scared for their lives to even think about pressing the alarm buttons under their desks.

I ducked back behind my desk rubbed my hands over my face in silent frustration. _Dammit. _There wasn't anything I could do, we were all trapped in here with (possibly homicidal) criminals. We were sitting ducks.

As I sat there thinking the situation was hopeless, I heard even more of a commotion out front, and then there was another gunshot. That was no warning shot. _Oh, shit. They've shot someone._

I chanced a peek around my desk. What I saw was not at all what I had expected.

Not. At. All.

The woman with the pram now stood straight, holding a handgun and aiming it at the two remaining thieves. The third was laying on the ground, still, blood slowly pooling around him. I took a closer look at the woman. She was tall, slender, ebony-haired, with tanned skin, hair pulled straight back into a tight pony-tail. She was the very picture of a badass bitch. I almost jumped when she spoke.

"Get the other one. He's in the back."

As she spoke, another figure got up and moved towards where I was. I was gripped with fear for a split second before I realised he had walked past me and into Schue's office. I watched the man's back as he pulled my boss up from where he had been crouched on the floor. He pulled him close for a second, as if whispering something in his ear, then shoved him backwards onto the floor. Tears were streaming down Schue's face and he looked like he was pleading.

The man then lifted a gun that I hadn't realised he'd been holding, and shot Schue in the head.

"Holy shit!" I couldn't help but exclaim.

Uh-oh.

The man whipped around at the sound of my voice and-

Oh, shit. I knew that face. Our eyes met and I was trapped in those beautiful glasz orbs.

It felt like a century passed before he started to move towards where I was crouched. I was frozen in place. I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. As he came closer, my eyes travelled up an down his body. A tight shirt and dark skinny jeans left little to the imagination and revealed his toned, muscular figure.

Even thought I was scared shitless, my dick still twitched at the sight of him. Damn he was beautiful. I thought back to the first time I saw him in that shop. Then, his clothes were simple and his eyes full of innocence. Now, I could see the lethal ferocity and strength hidden behind that gentle expression.

I blinked.

And suddenly he was crouched in front of me.

"Well, look what we have here." He reached out and dragged his knuckles across my cheek. "You're just everywhere aren't you?" He mumbled the last part, and I was unsure if he'd even meant me to hear it.

A shout came from out front, "Porcelain, move it! We gotta haul it outta here!"

"Coming, Satan!" He- Porcelain called back. "Come on". He pulled me up by the elbow (the left, thank god) and dragged me with him out to the front.

"We're bringing this one with us."

The dark-haired woman -Satan- rolled her eyes, "Hurry up, then. Specs is out front."

As I was pulled outside, I noticed the other two thieves tied up and gagged in the corner. Outside there was a black van, the side doors slid open as we approached, and I was bundled in roughly, quickly followed by Porcelain and Satan.

As the engine fired up, I thought about what I had just witnessed. _Oh shit._

_I am so dead. _


	3. Chapter 2

So, now the plot thickens, and there are more similarities with the movie. If anyone has any questions, or thinks I haven't explained anything clearly enough, please feel free to message me about it =)

Hope you like this,

- A x

* * *

The black van trundled along the road, taking sharp, erratic turns, presumably to avoid any chance of being followed. It was a food twenty minutes before I the vehicle lurched to a sudden stop, throwing me forward on the metal floor. Porcelain and Satan had remained in their sitting positions, obviously used to the unpredictable driving and adjusting their balance accordingly. As I righted myself, Satan let out a harsh laugh and looked to Porcelain as if to say_ "Really? Him?"_

The side doors slid open again and we hopped out. I looked around and saw that we were surrounded by dusty old brick buildings. The van was parked in the courtyard of what appeared to by some sort of old factory. I looked up and saw large, red letters that were mostly faded, painted across the front of the building above two huge wooden doors that looked as if they were from another era.

I heard another door slam, and looked to my left. There was the sound of movement over the gravel of the courtyard as someone – presumably the driver – rounded the van and came into view. After of few seconds of waiting and listening, someone coughed awkwardly. I looked down to see a light-haired man occupying a wheel chair. He raised his hand up to me before and I shook it hesitantly.

"Artie Abrams at your service. Everyone else here calls me Specs. Please don't. "

"Uh... Okay" I was confused, to say the least. "What... I mean how- Are you-?"

"Let me guess. You're wondering how a guy in a wheelchair can be such a badass driver, right?" Completely unfazed by my shocked expression, he continued and began to roll himself towards the doors. In a daze, I followed after him. "You see," he continued, "I rigged up the van so that I can control everything by flicking a couple of switches on the steering wheel. No need for pedals means no need for legs." He chuckled to himself as we crossed the threshold of the building.

As Artie wheeled himself inside, he spun himself around – _how does he _do _that? – _and made a grand sweeping gesture with his arms , "Welcome to The Sorority, my friend."

The room I now found myself in was _huge. _We were standing in what appeared to be an old factory floor, now completely cleared of machines, and sparsely littered with bits of furniture. A winding set of metal stairs, led up to a metal gangway, where I saw Porcelain and Satan talking to a tall scary-looking blonde woman.

The sound of a wolf-whistle to my left made me jump.

"_Damn. _ Who's the eye-candy?" I turned to see a tall, attractive brunette walking towards me. He saddled up to us with what I'm sure was supposed to be a sexy swing of his hips. He slung his arm over my shoulder and leaned in close, whispering in my ear, "Now, sweetheart, how about I take you upstairs and fuck you so hard you'll end up like our dear friend Specs here."

Partly in disgust, I looked away from him and raised a curious eyebrow at Artie, who rolled his eyes. "First off, that _is not _how this-" he gestured to his wheelchair, "- happened. Secondly, Seb stop trying to screw the new kid. He just walked in the door, for heaven's sake!"

I felt a sort of misguided gratitude towards Artie in that moment. While I didn't know what I was doing here or what would happen to me, I was glad to at least have someone who appeared to be on my side. That didn't mean I wasn't scared shitless though. 'Cause I was. The uncertainty was terrifying, though I counldn't tell if it was from fear, or the fact that 'Seb' still had his arm around me, and his other hand was now trying to acquaint itself with my belt buckle. _God, this guy was a creep._

"Hey!" A familiar voice shouted. I looked up see Porcelain descend the steps, and begin to saunter – _fucking _saunter, _who does that? – _towards us. I watched his hips appreciatively as he neared us. Just 'cause I was scared, that didn't take away from the fact how goddamn _hot _this man was. "Take your dirty little meerkat hands off of him."

"Oh, come on, Kurt." Seb whined, "Usually you let me play with your toys." He finished, grinning suggestively. I felt a sudden need to throw up.

_Could this guy _be _any more of a leech?_

"I promise I'll give him back in one piece..." Seb trailed off, pausing to look up and down my body once more. "Then again, maybe not."

_Yes. Yes, he could._

"Give it a rest Sebastian. He's _way _out of your league." Porcelain- Kurt- whatever said as he picked Sebastian's hand up off my shoulder, holding it between his thumb and index finger as if the fact that he had to touch Sebastian was physically repulsive to him. _Maybe it is, _I thought as I observed the bitch glare he was giving Seb.

"Now, kids. Stop bickering. The first sign of any animosity between you and you can kiss your sorry asses goodbye." The scary-looking blond woman declared as she descended the stairs.

"Yes, Miss Sylvester." Both Kurt and Sebastian spoke at the same time. Sebastian straightened up and stepped away from me, but I could still feel his eyes roaming over my form. God, I finally get away from one pervert, and immediately get thrown in with another. _I have the shittiest luck._

Miss Sylvester came closer, her eyes critical as they bored directly into mine, Satan following closely at her heels. "Name?" she asked, mouth turning down at the corners.

"Blaine Anderson-Berry."

"Occupation?"

"Uh, I _was _a secretary... until someone killed my boss."

Miss Sylvester smirked knowingly. She turned to look over her shoulder, at Satan, "Santana, make sure we have an extra bed made up tonight. New guy needs a place to sleep." She turned to Kurt, "Lady Lips, go practice pouting or something. Doe-Face here and I need to have a little chat."

Kurt harrumphed and stalked off towards the courtyard again. Santana rushed off, which seemed peculiar to me, she doesn't exactly strike you as the kind of person who is quick to take orders from other people. Artie and Sebastian started arguing about something I couldn't quite make out.

"Walk with me Doe-Face." Miss Sylvester announced as she walked off towards the stairs again. I followed after her, curious but filled with a sense of trepidation. I'd barely said a word since I arrived, and I still had no idea what I was actually doing here. Hopefully, Miss Sylvester was about to shed some light on the situation and give me some much wanted answers.

We walked along the gangway, silent except for the metallic sounds of our steps. Turning right, we walked down a short corridor and Miss Sylvester placed her hand on the doorknob and paused.

"Do you have friends Doe-Face? Girlfriends? Boyfriends?" She asked.

"No, ma'am." I replied, unsure where the sudden etiquette had come from.

"Family?"

"Estranged."

"Are you particularly attached to any part of your life at the moment?"

"No, ma'am."

Her mouth pulled up at one side in an almost sinister smirk. "Good. That's what like to hear from my new recruits."

"Recruits?"

She ignored me and continued, "What you learn beyond this door cannot be unlearned, it cannot be unseen, and it cannot be stopped. Prepare yourself, Hobbit. From here on out, everything changes."

With that she began to turn the doorknob.

I don't remember much about my early childhood. I have vague, almost-there-but-not-quite memories of my dad, but no clear picture of him in my head. What I do remember is that he used to work a lot, and he was hardly ever at home. I have no recollection of any type of mother figure, so I guess she wasn't around at all. It was just me.

And my brother, Cooper.

He looked after me when we were younger, that much I was clear on. No matter where dad went or how long he was gone for, I always had Coop. He took care of me, like a big brother should. And I idolized him, like a little brother should.

But then things changed. One time, dad didn't come back for months. Coop and I weren't worried. We could take care of ourselves. But, you see, we had this neighbour. She was an old lady, no family, no one ever came to visit her. She was always looking out her front window, waiting, watching. Nosy bitch. Just had to know everyone else's business. She kept asking Coop and me about dad, and if he was around because she wanted to "have a word with him". Yeah, right. She was just fishing for details.

To anyone who watched the neighbourhood as much as she did, it was obvious dad wasn't there. So she called the social services. At least, I'm pretty sure it was her. No one else cared enough or paid enough attention to us. We were put into care.

I was 8 years old at the time. Cooper was 9 nine years older than me. Because of the age difference we were separated. I went into a children's home, Coop went... somewhere, I'm not really sure where. Bottom line is I haven't seen my brother in over 12 years. I don't know what happened to him, or what happened to my dad.

On a brighter note, I spent only a year in care before I was fostered, and eventually adopted by a very nice couple: the Berrys. Hirim and LeRoy were great parents, and their daughter Rachel was a wonderful sister to me. Yet, as the years passed, I felt myself growing distant from them. As I got older, I began to feel like there was this great, gaping hole in my life where my father and brother should have been.

I know the Berrys loved me, but there was something deep down inside me that rendered me incapable of loving them back. Don't get me wrong, I was extremely grateful for everything that they had done for me, but there just something missing.

And now, as I walked across the threshold of an unknown room with Miss Sylvester, I suddenly felt something click into place. It was like a sense of rightness, of familiarity, of being in the right place at the right time. Something I had never felt growing up.

Here, in an old building, full of potentially deadly strangers, I felt as if I belonged. As if I'd finally come home. Somehow, deep in my gut, I knew I was surrounded by like-minded people who shared my views of the world. Somehow, I knew that being here in this moment was exactly _right. _

I pulled my attention back to the room surrounding me. It was a huge expanse, disturbed only by the great machine which took up most of the central floor area. I watched as the old fashioned mechanism moved, listening to sound of the wooden component as they bashed together.

Miss Sylvester was still talking, but I hadn't heard a word she said. I quickly pulled myself back into reality before she could notice I wasn't listening.

"- and what you seem before you is a loom. And not just any loom. " She turned to look at me, "How are you on your mythology, kid? What do you know about the three Fates?"

"Nothing, ma'am."

"Still with the formalities. I knew there was a reason I liked you, Short Stuff. Keep it up," She turned again, and began walking towards to the top of the room, where the loom was weaving a very plain looking white cloth. She pulled a handle which stopped the contraption before she spoke again.

"The three sisters of Fate are said weave the fates of every person who has ever, and will ever live, on a loom just like this. Each individual is represented by a golden thread, and when that thread is cut, the person's life comes to an end." She paused, I assume it was for dramatic effect, but I didn't really see where she was going with this fairytale.

"A thousand years ago, a group of weavers discovered a pattern in the threads of the fabric they weaved. The Code, at it came to be called, could be interpreted by counting the threads which had been woven incorrectly. If an incorrect thread was woven above another it represents the number one. If it is woven under, then it means a zero. Binary Code. The end result is a group of names.

"This group of weavers formed an ancient group of assassins. They called themselves the Sorority. They took the names the loom gave them, and they executed each one, according to the will of Fate."

"Wait. Executions? Assassins? I don't understand what any of this has go to do with-"

"And here I thought you were smart, Anderson." She interrupted my confused rant, and I was about to interrupt her when I stopped. _Wait. _The way she said that name, almost with a sense of intimacy, of familiarity...

I heard a different voice in my head, then.

_I knew your father._

_He was the greatest assassin who ever lived-_

"Before, he said- Porcelain said that he knew- he said that my father was..." I trailed off. This couldn't be true. What she was saying couldn't be true. A secret society of assassins, killing people because a piece of thread told them to?

And my father was one of them?

_Oh, god. _I felt a panic attack coming on. This was ridiculous, it didn't make sense. And yet...

It would explain a lot. Why dad was never at home, perhaps even why he disappeared. And why Porcelain and Satan were at that bank. Why they killed Schue, why they killed one thief and left the other two.

"I can't- I don't- I mean, how-"

"I can see you're going to need time to process this. I'll have Santana show you to your bunk. You're one of us now, Anderson. Get some rest. We'll start your training tomorrow."

"Wait-" I started to call, but Miss Sylvester had already stalked out of the room.

I stared at the sheet of linen in front of me. What hidden messages did it hold? Was there a name somewhere in there, just waiting to be discovered, waiting to serve as a death sentence to some unknown person?

My breathing was laboured, and I felt nauseous. _I need to get out of here._

Just then, Santana appeared in the doorway. I barrelled past her, down the steel steps and out into the courtyard, gratefully sucking in deep breaths of fresh air. I looked back at the building and thought about the individuals within it. About the loom. About the Sorority, and the assassins. About Fate.

_What the _hell _have I gotten myself into? _

* * *

_Please rate and/or review, even if it's just to say whether you're liking the story or not. Reviews mean the world to me =)_

Sneak Peek:  
(the next chapter will definitely be M-rated, you have been warned)

"Then take it."

What.

"Take back control. Use the power within you-,"

I felt him move behind me, his blade gently grazing my skin, as he cut through the restraints at my wrists.

"-to take what you want"

I brought my hands around from the back of the chair, as I felt his lips move to my ear, where he sucked on the lobe gently. When he continued, he voice was deep, gravelly, seductive.

"To take me_."__  
***_


End file.
